


As

by KirkyPet



Series: The Shipping Forecast [15]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), Mad Max: Fury Road
Genre: Age-related illness, Bad Puns, Cancer, Childbirth, Dad max, Dementia, F/M, Fluff, Honestly it’s more fun than it sounds, New green place, Next Generation, Panic Attack, Parent Furiosa, Social Anxiety, Voluntary euthanasia, achondroplastic dwarfism, death at a decently advanced age, for the Wasteland anyway, lots of fluff, this fic I mean, voluntary euthanasia is probably not more fun than it sounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-05-27 07:08:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15019340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KirkyPet/pseuds/KirkyPet
Summary: Big changes at the Citadel. A three-parter, spanning about 27 years, to wrap up my rambling headcanon nonsense.PLEASE NOTE WARNING ⚠️Today’s song was brought to you by Stevie Wonder!





	1. Just As All That’s Born Is New

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer. I am incorrigible fluff merchant. Having said that, this is the end of the story. Major character deaths here. Sorry!

Max paused at the foot of the stairs, mulling over whether she would prefer apples or pears from the gardens…  
Hurried feet, calling voices, confusion. It seems like everything’s happening at once. A thousand and one things could be the reason. But he knows what’s caused the commotion. _Hope is a mistake._  
He runs too, doesn’t know where. He should be running _to_ , not _away_. The buzzing in his head doesn’t care. Only the sane part of his brain calls out, a voice a little too insistent to block out…he wonders if it’s his own voice or someone else’s…

_Go up._

He emerges at the top of the stone stairs, into the green and blue and gold light, blinding after the darkness of the stairwell. He’s got used to the darkness inside the New Citadel now, these last eighteen months or so. That particular darkness spoke Home now, after all.

The shock of the glare and the warm breeze in his gasping lungs bring him back, in part at least, from the numbing terror that had seized him.

He shuddered in shame and dread, so much worse when it’s a dread of himself.  
No…this shouldn’t be happening…not now. He was better now, he’d prepared himself for this. Wouldn’t have done it, any of it, if he’d known he’d crumble like this at the end. He thought he could cope. Max scrubbed at his hair and dropped awkwardly to his knees, stomach heaving.

But it’s not different. It’s just the same. The love, the home, the happiness, the dread, the screams, the blood and pain. The emptiness. Knowing that he’d been the cause.

_That’s life for you, boy. Best to jump now if you can’t deal with it. But it won’t end, even then. You can take my word for it._

Max jolts mid-retch, in shock at hearing a voice he knew wasn’t real but yet didn’t cause him to recoil. It’d been a long time since he’d seen them last. Almost like old friends…

It didn’t even surprise him to look up and see seven or eight Vuvalini making themselves at home among the fruit trees and bean frames, some knitting and chatting amongst themselves, others wandering among the foliage and brushing a leaf wonderingly.

_Love what you’ve done with the place._  
_And a little one on the way too._  
_You could still do with a wash, though._

“You…? You’re here?” he whispered hoarsely.

_Of course…where did you think we were heading? Furiosa promised to bring us to the Green Place, and here we are!_ And it was Angharad who spoke now, smiling, holding her infant up to the sky as it grasps at a vine. 

High above their heads, the Boy sits among the branches contentedly munching on a peach, like a hairless spider monkey. Nux’s mouth is full but he gives Max an enthusiastic thumbs up.

“Furiosa…” Max looks back towards the stairs and shudders again. “Nearly ran…”

_But here you are. Up here. Why’d you think you didn’t run down the stairs?_

“What if…? She’ll be hurting, might be going wrong…” Max scrubbed fiercely at his head again, trying to dislodge the idea…something that he’d read a long time ago.

Would Furiosa’s engine shut down safely, or would it rev on and on til it exploded, killing her in blood and pain?

_I am one of the Vuvalini, of the Many Mothers. My clan was Swaddle Dog…the Many Mothers…_ that was Valkyrie’s voice whispering, as she bent over a string of beads, eyes closed, lips moving.

_Our babies will not be warlords…_ Angharad held her infant close, murmuring in its ear.

Nux scrambled down from his perch, dug a hole in the ground and planted his peach stone. He knelt over it, head bowed, fingers interlocked in a V. Looking up, blue eyes radiating hope.

“But…won’t you tell me it’ll be okay…why can’t you tell me…”

“Max? Where are you?”

Max closed his eyes tightly and waited for the cacophony of other voices to crowd in.

The approach of running feet, small feet.

“Max?” the voice was breathless, sounded familiar. Living familiar. Still he was unsure of himself, kept his eyes closed tightly. A smooth stone was pushed between the finger and thumb of his clenched right hand. He opened his eyes and looked down into the anxious face of Toots, his wide frightened eyes brimming over with tears. But as Max looked down at the stone in his half- open hand, Toots patted his arm awkwardly.

“Want to play Subbuteo? I play with Tony when I’m a bit scared, but it’s better to play with a real-actual person.”

Max nodded numbly and forced a smile. He contemplated telling the kid it’d be alright, no need to be scared. But it’d be a lie.

“All the men are downstairs. Capable kicked’em out. Even Ace and that took a fair bit of kicking I can tell you. No men allowed, she said. But I think it’ll be all alright, ‘cos Mother Fury’s not scared, I’ll bet. Mother Fury’s not scared of nuthin. Grampa Zal’s been all pacing up and down and Ace’s grumpy and Scratch ran away…”

“Like me…” Max muttered with only half a sigh. The kid’s relentless chatter was strangely soothing.

“He ran away away. Least I found you.”

“Maybe we should go down. Join’em”

*

“I am one of the Vuvalini…  
“Of the Many Mothers...  
“My Initiate Mother was…Katie Concannon.  
“I am the daughter of Mary Jabassa.  
“My clan was Swaddle Dog…”  
Furiosa muttered between clenched teeth and deep breaths.

This is perfectly normal. Mothers have done this for generations…no one... is going… to die…

That last bit should have been comforting…but Furiosa wished she hadn’t thought it.

Only Phyllis and Capable are here. There are a host of women on standby outside the door to relay messages and stand guard as needed.

She wants Max, but this is the Vuvalini way and, besides, she doesn't want him to see her in pain...or experiencing uncontrolled bodily functions, if it comes to that...she's heard stories. She’s more worried about him, anyway. She hopes, wherever he is, he’s okay and calm and not gone.

“My clan IS…is here…”

*

Her men wait in the garage pretending to work, pretending not to be anxious. Max and Ace and Toots and Zal and Karl and Caleb and Jerome and Taggy and Leo and Dek. Not nervous at all.

When Max fidgets, Toots paces. When he sits and bites his nails, Toots sits and jiggles.

Toots fishes his pebbles out of his pockets again and tries to distract Max with another game of Subbuteo.

An excited Toast comes running. She knows not to waste words. “Come, come, it’s all good!”

“She’s okay?” Max felt like his legs wouldn’t hold him. But still he found himself following, on autopilot.

“Which one? Oh, right…dammit. Yes, Furi’s fine. Phyl’s just done stitching her up, but…”

“Stitch…?”

“You try shoving a watermelon through a hole the size of a lemon, see if something doesn’t give a little…oh, sorry kid, didn’t see you there.”

Toots was following close on Max’s heels. He was unfazed, having expected nothing short of heroic wizardry from Mother Fury.

The rest of the men trailed behind, their conversation coming to Max as if through a fog…What’d she say?...Think it’s a girl…what was that about a watermelon? Does the Boss want one?...you don’t want to know, lad…no, that would not be a good gift right now…

Should his head feel this numb? Max wondered, as they arrived in the anteroom.

*

An indignant high-pitched wail. Phyllis opens the door, her typically impassive face beaming. "There he is. Boy, come in...you've got a daughter."

*

Max reached for the squirming bundle. He wants to look at Furiosa, see how she is, that she’s alive and well and not greatly the worse for having given birth to his child. But can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the tiny wrinkled brand new baby in his arms.

The newborn stopped squalling and regarded Max with a crinkled brow and a scrutinising expression. Furiosa knew she couldn’t be focusing on him, not at under an hour old, but the image was so beautifully, so agonisingly funny that she laughed.

“She looks so like you."

Max is too dazed to speak, but Furiosa now has his full attention as she turns towards the shadowy figures hovering uncertainly at the door. He hadn’t been expecting this…smiles and laughter…hadn’t allowed himself to hope for any of this.

Furiosa waves them all in to meet Valkyrie Jabassa Rockatansky. A big oldname for a very little person. She'll just have to grow into it, that's all.

*

They have very different parenting styles, Furiosa and Max. She is of the Many Mothers where, once a child is off the breast, it belongs almost equally to the whole clan as one extended community. Max, on the other hand, is used to the nuclear family, as he calls it. This is a term that is inextricably linked with toxic radiation in the minds of…well…everyone, but he and other Before-timers explain that it just refers to ‘a couple and their dependent children’. Upon which, most of their listeners make wry faces and dismiss it as a high-risk strategy.

At the New Citadel, the pups all sleep together after their fourth New Year. Eat together, play together, learn together.

It’s hard for him to hand Val over to others, Furiosa can tell, for all that he’s willingly adopted this brand of communal living. But she knows it’s the safest way to live in this world. She hopes it’ll shield him from being broken again. Furiosa had worried he wouldn’t be able to do it, but something in Max had unclenched not long after their girl’s second New Year. She thinks maybe now she’s older than his son when he died. Maybe he feels a barrier has been broken, history may not necessarily repeat itself.

Val’s still as much their baby girl as ever. She comes running from the ranks of her fellows after breakfast, always yells Mum! or Dad! and comes pelting on her chubby legs to tell of reading or what prank Dag’s girl Dryad pulled yesterday or how Toots had walloped one of the bigger boys for making fun of her.

She talked plenty now. They’d worried about that for a long time. Not a word ‘til she was nearly two, but it seems she was just arranging her thoughts. Taking it all in. She was a laconic child, sparing of her words, selecting them carefully like a connoisseur.

She liked stories too, like her mother as a child. But Furiosa had been more of a campfire storyteller than a reader of written words. Val was like a sponge, soaking up ink. She would hoard scraps of paper and hunch over them, writing in tiny letters to save space.

Furiosa sometimes wondered whether her namesake, her lost friend, hadn’t gone to the stars at all, but had chosen to wait…knowing she would be commemorated soon. Was it her lost Val looking at her out of her own child’s eyes? Maybe.

A sharp yell woke Furiosa from her reverie…she looked around to see her own girl sprawled in the dust bellowing in frustration as her friends looked down from their high perch. Max running over to check she wasn’t damaged and giving her a relieved cuddle as her sobs redoubled with the sympathy.

Okay, that’s not lost Val in there. My own little Valkyrie is not a natural climber, it seems. Furiosa’s eyes stung with tears, a mixture of relief, regret and affection at the sight of her Max fussing over his baby girl in a very unVuvalini manner.

“That man of yours is gonna ruin young Valkyrie!” Althea called out disapprovingly from the doorway. “Careful she don’t turn out soft, getting cosseted like that.”

“She’s just mad at falling when the others made it. She’ll find her own way up, though. Look, there she goes. And no, he isn’t helping her.”

Val might have been daddy’s girl...and, in fact when Furiosa asked what she was writing this week, Val declared it was Dad’s stories from Before-time. She wanted to be an archivist now, not a wizard. Wizards were silly. Yes, Val was a daddy’s girl. But Mum was her hero. She was a little in awe of her, having heard the Boys tales of Imperator Furiosa, and Ace’s anecdotes from when Mum was a Boy too, almost as young as Toots. And she knew Mum loved her and wanted her to be happy and strong and safe. Val might not fly up to Furiosa and fling her arms around her with as much abandon as she would with Max, but her mother’s smile or hug would have her in a glow for the rest of the day. She would have an Initiate Mother in a twelvemoon or two, they were debating whether Toast or Cheedo would be best, but if Val had to introduce herself, she would proudly announce ‘I am the daughter of Furiosa Jabassa, of the New Citadel clan’. Anyone who saw her knew who her father was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line Max remembers is from Stephen King’s The Breathing Method  
> “Birth is wonderful, gentlemen, but I have never found it beautiful – not by any stretch of the imagination. I believe it is too brutal to be beautiful. A woman’s womb is like and engine. With conception, that engine is turned on. At first it barely idles … but as the creative cycle nears the climax of birth, that engine revs up and up and up. Its idling whisper becomes a steady running hum, and then a rumble, and finally a bellowing, frightening roar. once that silent engine has been turned on, every mother-to-be understands that her life is in check. Either she will bring the baby forth an the engine will shut down again, or that engine will pound louder and harder and faster until it explodes, killing her in blood and pain” (Stephen King, The Breathing Method, 1982).


	2. Until The Ocean Covers Every Mountain High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Citadel’s resident explorers bring exciting news.

Val had just turned seven when Grampa Zal and his crew came back from their travels. They were looking for the New Green Place, everyone knew that by now. Even the People who didn’t know the Old Men to speak to would get interested when the bashed-up VW pulled up in the dust-cloud it carried with it everywhere. Would pass by and call out ‘Any luck this time?’ It was getting to be a joke with lots of people, which made Val mad because she’d seen all the old papers and the maps that Dad had made, and she’d even been to see the old Mushroom Farmer with Toast and Dag.

But something was different this time. Grampa didn’t look as tired as he usually did, all tuckered out from months of travelling and getting disappointed. No, Val was almost sure she saw him skip a little bit. Karl he waved and called her over.

“You’ll never guess what we found out in the wild world, kiddo. Lots and lots of your favourite colour!” he said as she ran into her Grampa’s open arms. “Think it’s gonna be everyone’s favourite colour today, if it wasn’t already” Grampa added as he got to his feet, knees all dusty.

Karl shook her hand, as he always did. Val was surprised to see that she was almost his height now, but not quite. But they’d been away a long long time. When she was very young, people would say all the time ‘she’s the image of her Dad…’. Once she heard someone add ‘she’ll never have to duck to go through a door’. Which was made her mad because her Dad was really tall and lots better than everyone else’s dads. But, over the years, her friends had grown faster, and she was the small one.

Which was why it was curious to stand toe to toe with an actual grownup, someone her Grampa’s age, and look them in the eye. She was immediately compelled to ask Karl what it was like and did it make him angry to be small for always…but she knew she shouldn’t because it was rude but she wanted to know…and she could feel her face getting red and she hoped hoped hoped nobody would notice…

But she didn’t have long to fret, because Karl said “Here, take a look at this” and handed her a great big flower, wilted some, but bigger than her hand. She blinked at it in surprise, opened her mouth to ask what it was, but just then Grampa asked “Where’s the Boss?”

Val giggled, awkward feelings forgotten. Mum always got annoyed when Grampa called her that.

“Off scouting with Dad. They went two days ago, said they’d be back in four.”

Grampa Zal groaned and made a face at Karl, who shook his head. Guess they wanted to tell the news to Mum and Dad first, whatever it was. Val didn’t mind, she thought as she examined the flower. She could be patient. More patient than Grampa, by the look of it.

But they all got lucky and didn’t have to wait two days, because about an hour later they arrived back with a rusty bike and sidecar tied to the roof that looked like it’d been buried for a hundred years. Seems they’d spotted the van and followed it home. Grampa and his pals hadn’t been seen for almost a twelvemoon and folks were starting to fret. Val knew better. Grampa hadn’t got so old by getting into trouble.

*

“Snow.” Max’s voice was flat, but with a tiny inflection that would’ve meant ‘Fuck off’ if it hadn’t been Zal telling the tale.

“There’s snow.” the older man repeated.

A pregnant silence in the room, broken by Toast’s impatient “There’s no what? Enough with the dramatic pauses…”

“Snow is…weather you get on high mountains. Falls out of the sky, white stuff.”

“Like…ash? Sounds dangerous.”

“Not ash. Water…but frozen.” Max sounded a little uncertain about the details. “Never seen it myself.”

“Sounds like we’ll have to wrap up warm then” Althea muttered, with the resignation of master knitter who was beginning to feel her age in her fingers before anywhere else.

“There are people there already, though. How well-armed are they?” Furiosa asked.

“It’s a deep valley, really well-hidden. The snow is higher up the mountain, the valley itself isn’t cold. Cooler than here, of course, but warm enough for two crops a year on the north slope...”

“Which is why they won’t be welcoming new arrivals…”

“I’m getting to that. They won’t be hostile, because they need the numbers. They lost about half of their community a while back…”

“Attacked? Disease?”

“An avalanche.”

“A what?”

“A lot of snow slid down the mountain onto them.”

“Oh. This snow sounds great.” Toast laughed mirthlessly.

“They don’t do mining with explosives any more. Shouldn’t happen again.”

“What’s their power source? Where do they get their guzz? Do they trade with Gastown for it?” asked Caleb.

“No guzz. Methane from waste, hydro and a bit of timber for cooking fires. Twigs and that, the kids gather them.”

“Hydro? Water power?” asked Capable.

“Water flows down from the mountain as fast rivers, fast enough to power a wheel. It’s like wind power.”

There was a frisson of excitement in the room at this. The idea of water flowing constantly, unchecked, was a disturbing but thrilling image. And flowing powerfully enough to replace the wind as an energy source?

“But it’s not enough to power vehicles, not without bigger dams and years of work…they use it for light and heating. Too steep for vehicles anyway. Bikes maybe, but feet are surer. Good climbers, these folk.”

A noise under the table alerted the council to the presence of an intruder. Two, in fact, although it was Val’s unguarded reaction to bad news that had discovered them.

“Out, you two! I’ll talk to you both later.” Furiosa pointed her thumb towards the door with an exasperated look.

“Idiot, Val…” Toots muttered as he clambered to his feet. “Can’t trust a baby to keep quiet…”

Val’s jaw dropped at this public affront.“You…smeghead!” she retorted.

“Hoi! Language!” Max called after them as they both fled, bickering.

*

It was something of a wrangle to figure out who should be part of the caravan to the Mountains. Caution aside, there was never any doubt that they would try to settle this New Green Place now it had been found. They would need fighters, healers, Thumbs of every hue. But so did the New Citadel. They couldn’t risk weakening their established home for the more tenuous chance of a new one.

Max and Furiosa’s shared look as Zal described their find was all that needed to be said for their part. It was obvious to all that they both longed to be on the Road, beating a new path towards a future…redemption…for themselves and future generations.

But what about the kids? Val was only little. Could they take her from all she knew, into unknown dangers? No, Max shook his head. They would come back for her when it was definitely safe. But that in itself was unthinkable. Was she old enough to choose for herself?

And Toots. They’d long since taken the kid under their collective wing as their own, inasmuch as any child could be claimed. But he was thirteen now. What would he choose to do? This was going to be hard, no matter what.

Others were having a difficult time too. The youngest were enthusiastic, those without close ties were eager, especially among the People.

The young Vuvalini, as they were now known, had a conference amongst themselves and concluded that they would all stay. They were too deeply invested here.

The unspoken caveat was that Ace and Caleb would opt to remain as well. Between them, they could direct the New Citadel in a skeleton fashion in the absence of the colonists.

Toast held out longest but succumbed to the argument that she was, to all intents and purposes, Furiosa’s apprentice and should remain in her stead.

And Ace declared he would stay. He was Citadel to the bone, that was all. Caleb, standing close by, merely nodded agreement.

Althea would go, Phyllis would stay. This surprised many, but not those who knew them well. Phyllis was not comfortable in wide open spaces, though she kept this fact to herself as best she could. What would’ve been the point of complaining of something that was unavoidable? But she had a Home again, a safe place with walls, and starting over again afresh was not an option. Althea knew what a relief this was and didn’t try to persuade her oldest friend to join her.

Val made such an outcry at the barest suggestion that she might stay behind that any doubt on that score was done away with. Toots, in unusually few words, looked at Max and Furiosa “Where you go, I go.”

That would be all four of the Old Men, Furiosa, Max, Toots, Val, Althea, Taggy and Dek from the old Rig Crew. They took applications from citizens who wanted to come, selecting the healthiest with relevant skills.

In the end, five Boys, two Milkers-turned-Greenthumbs and three from the People would complete the convoy. The blackthumbs had been working for nearly a sixmoon, putting together a Big Rig. To carry supplies for weeks on the Road, and off-road too. Not looking for war, but able to deal it out if necessary. And, unless they were very lucky, it would be. Once they sent back word, others could follow.

*

The Big Rig and its outriders set off at daybreak. There had been a party the night before. The band had played ‘Up Around The Bend’, one of Val’s favourites. She wasn’t good at music, not like Toots, but she could clap along like the best of them.

When Val had said ‘Don’t cry, Auntie Capable, they’re not that bad. They’re getting better at it”, Capable had sniffed and wiped her eyes and laughed and said that she wasn’t sad. She was crying because she was happy that no one was having to escape this time round. And that was true, nobody was chasing them, apart from the waving Pups. Val waved back as long as she could see the Citadel through the dust clouds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure what to make of Val. She seems to spend most of her time being irritated and unable to get her words out quickly enough. I’m starting to think she might be a self-insert :/  
> Never mind!
> 
> Just a reminder that Zal and Karl are Christopher Brookmyre’s characters who I have misappropriated for my own evil purposes.


	3. As Today I Know I’m Living But Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twenty years of letters from our Mountain correspondents. Until one day some sad news is delivered in person. But life has a funny habit of going on.

Toast smiled as she thumbed through the sheaf of letters from the Mountain. Many of them were in Val's handwriting, always unchildishly tiny and neat, even the earliest, like this one. That kid knew the value of paper and had learned to write small as soon as she could write at all. And she’d always been more fond of writing than talking.

 _Hi everybody at the Citadel. We miss you loads but are here in the Valley all safe. Grandad told us a song, its called 'Big Rock Candy Mountain'. Its about a hobo who wants to find a nice place to live. We're all hobos. Driving was okay, mainly not exciting but sometimes. Some bad people but mum and dad made them go away. Toots wrote a song about it. Its called BAM BAM._  
_We found the Rock Candy Mountain. Up high there's a green place shaped like a big V. Maybe it’s where the V8 lives? Mum and dad hugged a lot. Mum cried some. She was very happy. There are birds and the ground is wet.  
Your Valkyrie Jabassa Rockatansky_

*

There were other letters; brief official reports and even the occasional personal note in Furiosa’s unpracticed hand. Maps, of course. Many maps drawn by Max, no longer in his own blood but some plant-based ink or other. Even census figures began to arrive as numbers grew; Zal had likely kept his word to the folks he’d met over the years; showing them the way to a Green Place.

Lists of foodstuffs, so different to the Citadel fare. Meat that definitely was not long pig. There were animals, large ones even, in the mountains. Toast regretted more than once that she had opted not to go with the convoy. Her Val had become a notable hunter, it seemed. Bows and arrows, no use at all in the wide open Citadel environs, were the weapon of choice for the Mountain warrior. Presumably she’d learned from the native Mountain people.

The Citadel party had adapted to their new surroundings over the years. It was funny to see the Mountain folks meet their old Citadel companions again, those who made the long journey to and fro. The heat and dryness was troublesome to those used to the Mountain, while the returning Citadel people complained how the cold and damp got into their bones.

There was a slow but steady flux of citizens between the sister states. But Toast still had never visited. She’d been set on going during that quiet spell after the Gastown Armistice was signed. But then a party arrived from the Frontier trading post and put paid to that. In short, it never seemed to be the right time.

The others felt the same, they talked about going, often. Cheedo consoled herself by copying the Mountain missives into the Archives. Dag had one day speculated on the durability of the plant-ink. They’d checked the oldest letters and, indeed, they were badly faded. So they’d taken to transcribing them and leaving the paper to bleach in the sun to be reused.

The more entertaining letters were compiled into a Modern Book of Knowledge for the purposes of teaching the Citadel young ones. Over the years, the pups would learn everything from house building to anthropology from the correspondence of, well, mainly young Valkyrie. From how grasses could be arranged to keep the rain off, right through to the measures a Citadel boy might take to successfully or unsuccessfully woo a native Mountain girl.

Poor Toots. Toast wondered if he knew the successes and failures of his love life was being broadcast to the folks back home via the pen of a satirical twelve year old who found it all hilarious.

It was an education to view Mountain life through the eyes of a child, a teenager and eventually a young woman.

But Val was not the only correspondent. Toots wrote to his old mate Scratch over the years, though erratically and in a manner often incomprehensible to outsiders. Scratch would gossip, however and, as time went on, it became whispered that the excitable musician had a paralysing crush on Val, now nineteen years old and a recent graduate of a year-long solitary initiation in the high forests.

It was around that time that Val stopped mentioning Toots in her letters altogether. Some months later, she declared her intention to try for a child, Mothers willing, in the tradition of the Vuvalini. And to take Toots on as a partner, on probation, since he was the best man she knew. So that was that. Never was the romantic type, our girl, not outwardly anyway. If there were any less practical motives involved, she kept them to herself.

*

Toast was awakened from her reminiscing by the blare of the sentinel’s horn. Visitors! _Friend or foe?_ she wondered, as she grabbed her pistols and jogged downstairs.

The evening sun cast long shadows as a truck pulled up, waved in by the sentinel. A few moments later, a tall man with climbed out of the drivers seat, dreadlocks tied up behind. A dark-haired woman emerged from the other, catching a child of about five or six in her arms as he jumped down. No, it couldn’t be. Those kids were here…with their own kid? Impossible! Toast laughed and ran forward.

*

Oh, the Citadel looked so different when they returned, though just the very same. The same shape, more or less, but there were few people left that they remembered. How had it been so long? Life had got in the way. A new life in a new place.

Where were the same old faces that she’d left behind? Val shaded her eyes. Oh! Here was Toast. Grey-haired now but still with enough teeth to be chewing a splinter of wood. She came running, beaming at them. How could she tell her?

"Toast..." Val choked as she hugged her old friend. Her Initiate Mother, for a time. "Toast. Listen. They're gone."

“Gone? Who’s…?” Toast held her at arms length and looked into her face. Understanding dawned. “No. No, they can't be."

Toast spun away on her heel, palm to her forehead, eyes cast up angrily to the sky. The others came running up, at least as fast as they could. They weren't as fast as they used to be but they were all there, thank the Mothers.

And here, here was Angharad, and Nux. Nearly twenty oldyears on and she'd know them anywhere.

“What’s wrong? Toast…?”

"They're gone...? gone where? Not...?"

"To the stars..."

"How...what happened?"

"That can wait. Come in, you three. Need to get you some water, food..."

That was typical Capable. She could hold back the need to know how her friends had died, in the interests of hospitality and care. Bless her. And how one word from her could silence the others. For now, anyway.

*

After they'd been given a room to freshen up and get a few minutes to centre themselves, they were taken to another room, not the refectory, somewhere more private. There was fresh water and food. Citadel food, so different from what they had in the valley. Childhood memories were so tied up in those tastes and textures. The lump in her throat made it hard to swallow. Toots was feeling it too, same as her. They were her parents, but they were all family, blood or not. These old-new things made them miss them both a hundredfold, impossible as it might seem.

But Sprog did them good. He was a good distraction; a little shy of the new people but entranced by the place. She should’ve known it wouldn’t disappoint.

She called the others in. It was time to tell.

*

"Mum's breathing got bad. And she found a lump on her neck. We knew some lumps were bad, but we hoped it wasn't that kind. I mean, Ace had them, and he didn't get sick, right? But she got so tired, and some nights we could hear her try to breathe.

“But we thought it would pass. Sometimes it seemed better. Dad was worried, but we'd try to keep him cheered up. Toots is good at that, you know? So, one day, Toots was messing around. Dad was laughing in that quiet way, and he hit Toots on the shoulder and called him 'Goose'. We thought it was just a Before word, a figure of speech. Silly goose, something like that. But Dad just went white as a ghost, and walked away.

“We didn't realise at the time, but that was the beginning. He was starting to mix people's names up, forget things. One time, he looked at me for a few seconds like he didn't know who I was. And Sprog. He looked so confused when he called him grandad. But he never forgot mum. You know.

“So this went on for about a year. Sometimes better, sometimes worse. But we were kidding ourselves. They were both fading in their own way. They warned us, not outright. But hints. And who were we to force them to stay?"

"They left, then?" Capable asked.

"Early one morning, we found things laid out on their bed. Dad's jacket. Mum's old bandolier and knives. A little bag with a lock of Gran's hair. And a note. Just short.

It's time to go. We love you. We're sorry

“They hadn't taken anything. It was a cold night, so we kind of knew we wouldn't find them on time. Guess they knew that. Didn't want us to bring them back.

“We went out to look for them. One place made sense. We climbed down the mountain, back to where Dad had left his car when we arrived. It was rusted and bits of shrubs were growing in the cracks. Mum and Dad were there, together, curled up on the bonnet of the car, no wraps, nothing. I guess they'd just gone to sleep. And it had been such a cold night.

“We wrapped them in blankets. They had no pulse, they were stone cold, but we had to try. We lit a fire, and sat by them for a day. Everyone from the Valley had gathered by then. The next morning, we burned the car."

*

Toots wandered off alone. He was so used to seeking out the company of others that everyone assumed he was with another group. He climbed and climbed til his thighs burned with it. It was strangely comforting to climb stairs in darkness again, as he had done when they brought him here. It was only when he emerged into the molten gold of sunset light that he realised he’d run out of places to go.

It was the Gardens. Always a good place to soothe an irritated spirit or a melancholy mood, but Toots paused, almost ready to turn and go back down. He was afraid the memories would be too much for him to handle. He’d forgotten so much, and the smells everywhere were returning them to him in spades.

He thought he’d cried his cry back when they buried them, but he might’ve known there would be a whole new wave waiting for him at the Citadel. He’d rather be alone when it hit.

Toots took a look round. No one here. It would be safe to let go if he had to. But no, nothing was happening, no lump in the throat, no overwhelming urge to just curl up on the floor for a comfortable sob. He just sat and took in the smells and remembered Max and Furiosa as he’d seen them here. It helped him understand why they’d chosen to leave when they did, not to struggle on. Toots has never been sick, neither had Val, not that kind of sick that there’s no coming back from.

“Hey mate, you wanna talk about it?” Toots squinted up as a long shadow fell on him, then shrugged tiredly. Scratch flopped down next to him.

“‘S a shame. Thought those two would go on forever.”

“Just got wore out. Never ones for taking a rest, y’know?” Toots stared forward for a moment, then drew his legs up, and put his forehead on his knees. _“Shit”_ he groaned, finally resigned to the inevitable. He was gonna weep with an audience after all. He tried to keep it quiet, but the shoulders would shake and the breath would hitch in his chest. He didn’t even want to think about what the gasps and sniffs might sound like. Finally it passed and he shook his head with a grim laugh.

A greasy rag was thrust under his nose. He took it with a nod and blew noisily.

“I know what’ll…what’ll…” Scratch paused to choose his words and gave up. “You’ll wanna see this, anyway. C’mon.”

*

“Cheedo suggested it. They’d been reading some old book about vampires, can’t see the connection meself, but…here.” Scratch carefully took a cylinder from the shelf and handed it to Toots.

“I mean, it’s nothing like the discs, but the sound’s not bad. Get the paraffin from Gas Town o’course, and it can be reused. Just messin’ about but maybe someday we’ll be able to make discs. Trade ‘em too…” Scratch had a faraway look in his eye and grinned. “So, we do it like this - I get the band assembled in a special room, all fitted up with…”

“Aw mate, just play it, willya!” Toots was practically quivering with excitement. Ordinarily he’d be nearly as keen to hear the technical details as his friend was to give them, but today? No.

“Aye, alright” Scratch grinned. “You’ll like this. It’s one of yours. We couldn’t get anyone to do the vocals, but it’s a solid instrumental version…”

He placed the needle on the cylinder and cranked the handle.

A thrill ran through Toots. He’d written a lot of songs over the years and sent them to Scratch for the band to try. From his earliest one about how Furiosa and Max had dealt with trouble on the way to the New Green Place, right through to the one he wrote when he started to hope Val liked him just a little bit. But of all of them, Scratch couldn’t have picked one more appropriate for the here and now.

It didn’t matter that he’d written it one day up on the high peaks when Max and Furiosa were fit and well down below. Back when he was young, and Val was younger and everyone was going about their business and no one was gone. Funny how songs can suddenly mean something completely different.

This one was now bittersweet; a song of remembrance. Toots closed his eyes and sang.

*

Afterwards, Scratch swore blind that he hit the broadcast toggle by accident. Must’ve leaned on it or something.

*

Val and the Sisters had stayed outside to talk, to sit quietly, to think. Others began to gather, the news having spread.

"I'll never forget mum's face when we saw the valley.” Val said with a smile. “There was just this real earthy smell in the air – like Dag's garden's but more - she just closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she kicked her boots off and walked barefoot on the damp soil. When she turned round to us, there were tears just running down her face. She just looked at Dad and laughed. Reached out a hand to him and said "Second time lucky."

Some of the older hearers smiled at this, understanding what Furiosa had meant.

At a crackle of static from the public announcement system, they all looked up as one.

_“…I'm going to live to see everyone free, free, free, free”_

(And this is how Citadel karaoke was born. But that’s another story.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry, please don’t be mad. I needed the closure :(
> 
> Also, Val and Toots were raised as family friends, NOT brother and sister, in case anyone thinks this is weird. I could cite the case of Emma/Clueless if folks still aren’t convinced.
> 
> Toots’ songs mentioned here are 1: Bam Bam  
> 2: Just Tell Me  
> 3: I Shall Be Free  
> (all by Toots and the Maytals)


End file.
